Lemon Candy
by Amlia B
Summary: Zombieman discovers that having friends is an awfully wonderful thing: it makes him feel, but the emotions aren't exclusively good. Sequel of Tutti-fruit flavored. Now with a sequel "Candy Apple".


He gazed at the number again, hesitating. His finger hovered over the call button, before retreating for the third time. Zombieman chuckled, laughing at himself. This wasn't like him at all.

He put the phone down, lighting another cigarette, pacing in his small apartment. It had been two weeks since first contact with Saitama, and the ensuring gathering he had crashed. The feeling of warmth that had permeated his chest was only a memory now, but it remained burned in his mind, deep enough that no matter how many times he died, it wouldn't wash away.

But, a memory was only that, the past seen through the mind's eye. It couldn't expurgate the feeling of sadness for long. He had accepted himself to be a lonely person, had thought himself that kind of person. It came as as unexpected surprise that, after being exposed to company, to friends, he would come to crave that presence.

And so, the dilemma: calling Badd. He wanted to see the teen, it was an impulse he had never felt before, the desire to see someone just for the sake of missing them. It was terrifying, it was astonishing. He wanted them to meet, just to _be_ together. It was a notion so ridiculous, so unpreceded, that it brought a grin to his lips. He felt alive and few things could put that emotion in his chest.

However, he didn't know what to say. He wanted to maintain their relationship, but didn't know how. Their boundaries were still blurry, so he feared that Badd might feel pressured into seeing him, he didn't want to push. He wondered if there were an appropriate number of days one should wait before contacting a friend again.

He reclined by the open window, gazing at the city from the 23th floor. It wasn't a big deal, but his apartment was bigger than Saitama's - actually, Akira's, his brother.

He huffed again, smoke curling from his nostrils, an idea forming in his mind. Zombieman searched his contacts again, finding another name. He looked at it for a few seconds, shrugged, and called.

"Moshi moshi, Akira here," was the answer in a few ringtones.

"Hi, it's me," he immediately said, berating himself for his vageness. "Zombieman," he added quickly.

"Hey dude!" The teen gleefully responded, actually sounding pleased. "I could recognise that smooth voice anywhere," he chuckled. "Gotta say, didn't think you would actually call."

"Is this a bad time?" Zombieman interjected, giving him an out. It wouldn't do for him to creep teenagers out.

"For you? Never," Akira answered, strangely sincere. "Just a sec'". There was background sound, like a TV on and low conversation, it became fainter as he moved, the noise disappearing behind a sliding door. "Okay, shoot, how's it been? Any interesting news? Nice foods? Maybe an intriguing case?" He barreled on, amending sentence after sentence, no hesitation at all.

That's why he had, a bit cowardly, called Akira. Badd was a good person, could even be considered sweet and caring, but he had difficulty expressing that into words. It could be hard drawing words from him and in such new territory, over the phone, Zombieman wasn't sure how to talk to him. Their last meeting had been scheduled by text message, but their next one he wanted to be able to call.

Akira didn't have the same problem, there never was a shortage of words from him. Strangely, while there were indeed an abundance of sentences, Akira managed to not sound superfluous, everything he said possessed a meaning, a reason to be.

"Nothing worth telling, I assure you," he easily fell into the conversation flow. "How about you?" He asked back, the script of politeness guiding him for now.

"Well, Badd managed to get pieces of a monster down his pants, and Saitama-nii-chan got an incredible discount on fruits this saturday, but besides that, nothing too exciting." He babbled. It was very curious how disgusting information and food sales ranked evenly on his mind. "Which brings to mind, do you like fondue?" He suddenly questioned.

What?

"Pardon?" Zombieman inquired, getting lost on the teen's logic. Another difference from Badd, Akira made strange jumps in a conversation, giving anyone whiplash. There never was a script with him.

"We got a lot of fruit here," Akira backpedaled, clearly for the sake of the other side of the conversation, "we can't eat it all alone before it spoils, so we are having a get together. With fondue, you know? Fruit dipped into chocolate," he explained. "Would you like to come? This Tuesday, around 3 p.m. It will be smaller, just Badd and Saitama-nii."

Zombieman couldn't believe his luck. He had just been looking for advice, but got a whole gathering set up. But, with so few people things were bound to get more awkward.

"Please come, Zombie-nii-san," Akira insisted, "I promise not to bite," he chuckled.

"Alright, since you gave me your word," he laughed as well. "I will see you then."

"Cool," there a pause, "so, why did you call?"

Zombieman hesitated, he wasn't sure what to say now.

The silence was long enough to be perceived by the teen.

"I see," he commented, again sounding strangely sincere, like he did understand what was happening, even when Zombieman himself was at loss.

"I will see you Tuesday, Zombie-nii-san," he said.

"Good bye, Akira," he replied.

The line remained connected a few instants more, the faint sound breathing and static emanating from the phone. There was an unmistakable weight of expectant pause, like Akira was waiting for him.

Zombieman disconnected.

…

Zombieman arrived exactly 3 p.m. He had a bag of teas and soda, and a package of beers. Last time he had rudely showed up empty handed, but today he was prepared.

He didn't hesitate going up the stairs and politely knocking, he didn't think twice about entering and acknowledging everyone present, he didn't falter when offering the drinks and taking his boots off. But his hands hovered over the trench coat, uncertainly. Akira glanced at his hands, but said nothing, busing himself with the cans. He left it on.

Soon, the four of them were sitting around a small pan over a portable stove, melted chocolate simmering lowly, fruits cut into neat pieces. Bananas, strawberry, mangoes and grapes, a great variety. Zombieman couldn't say he had favoritism over any kind of food, specially not sweets, but the setting did look good.

"Okay, listen up," Saitama gravely declared as soon as everyone had their forks ready, "fruits were on sale, but chocolat was still way too expensive, so I gotta express my displeasure that the convenience store does not refund goods paid in cash, and that my brother is a rotting thief."

"You said to buy the necessities, I say fruits demand some sort of dipping," said thief answered.

"Whatever, let's eat," Badd grumbled, already spearing a grape.

So it began.

Saitama mostly fought with Badd for the bananas, and Akira speared everyone's hand at least once, but it was fun.

Badd soon striked a conversation with Zombieman while the brothers discussed their next shopping spree with their hard fought coupons.

"I got these before a bunch of broken college students," Akira was was bragging.

"Ha!" Saitama barked a laugh, "you still have much to learn," he smirked, features sharpened. "I got these right under the nose of housewifes."

Akira seemed dutifully impressed after that.

"So," Badd awkwardly started, just after the pots were brought to the kitchen and the pan was waiting in the sink, with Akira starting a loud water fight with his brother. "The idiot told me you called him," Badd grumbled without looking at him.

Zombieman felt his whole chest freeze. It was an uncanny feeling, since he did not have a heartbeat to be stopped, nor breath to lose. It was both exhilarating and toe clenching, but the fear again got a grip of his throat, the foreshadow of losing the few things he had been given. Maybe he did not deserve those precious gifts.

He probably had overstepped. Calling out of the blue was very inappropriate, and showing up to such intimate gathering even more. Zombieman could already imagine what the other hero would say, not outright telling him to back off, since he was a good hearted person, but the meaning would be clear enough.

"That's cool, but he might talk your ear off if you let him, since you are too nice," Badd unexpectedly continued, cheeks slightly red, "so you might wanna call me instead, to know about our meeting and such, you know? I won't take as much time as him," he finished lamely.

Zombieman froze again, this time in surprise and relief. Maybe he had underestimated how forgiving people could be. Maybe Badd was just a giving person.

"I will remember that," he easily agreed. "Though I have to say that you flatter me-"

"Stop!" Came the suddenly louder screech from the kitchenette, "water bill is high already!" Saitama managed to hold Akira under the running tap, effectively drenching him. He was flailing his arms comically around, putting up no real fight, they were both grinning.

"And letting it run like that won't help!" Badd jumped into action, tackling Saitama aside, they fell to floor rolling. Akira went after them.

Zombieman was the one closing the tap.

….

"He seemed happier," Saitama commented later that night, laying on his futon staring at the ceiling, "that Zombie guy."

Akira sighted, turning on his side, away from the other.

"Social group of risk," he muttered, before falling asleep.

o.O.o

Zombieman liked his job.

He enjoyed investigating clues and connecting lost dots. He thrived on resolving mysteries and discovering what happened, when and how and why a plot was devised. And he couldn't deny craving the blood baths that ensued sometimes.

The problem was, being a hero demanded more from him than he was willing to give. Chained to a corporation that, at the end of the day meant well, but had an execution so lacking it was almost for nothing. The HA needed to get their priorities straight and fast, because they were all going to sink very quickly.

"Marketing?" Zombieman repeated slowly, staring with- ha- dead eyes at the board, that summoned him for a 'top priority' meeting.

"Yes," the man in the middle, one of the association's spokesperson, gravely delivered, as if yelding to his hands the mission to save humanity. "We would like you to be our new face for the campaign for funds. You are an S class hero, at the top 10 no less, yet, you have the smallest fan base, bringing little income for the Hero Association," he spoke the name with careful vowels, crisp consonants, lilt indicating something otherworldly and supreme. Zombieman was acutely remembered of _contempt._

There were many other words: popularity rankings, monstrous abilities, crowd pleasing, executive orders. He listened to it all with stoic silence, holding still for lack of any other reaction he could express. He tried to remember why, again, he bothered to revive his emotions, why care for the little things, if they all were just going to show him how pointless it all was.

"Will you do it?" Was the final sentence, thrown at him with the certainty that he would obey without question. Zombieman was, out of all the other S class heroes, one of the most agreeable, and these people knew it. They probably didn't expect him to put up a fight.

They were wrong.

"No," he said, in the calm and reasonable tone he used for everything.

He wouldn't, because he liked his job. Becoming a circus attraction would just prevent him from doing it.

When demanded for answers, he simply stood, moving to the door with sure steps. "You don't ask the undercover cop to be the new poster face," was all he responded.

"If you don't," one of the man at the end of the table, posing in a colorful suit and full of attitude, an _executive, _warned, "you will be demoted to A class and have information clearance denied," he smirked with confidence, as if he held advantage over the hero.

Zombieman stopped, because he feeling of _scorn_ was sudden enough to paralyze him. He didn't care about what happened to him, he would just regenerate, ready for another massacrer. But he needed to have something to work with after he came back.

Before he could reply, with what, he wasn't sure, there was a rude interruption.

"What are you doing?" Tatsumaki asked - commanded- with the usual scrill voice and arrogant tone as she descended from the darkness of the room. "Zombie creepy is already useless as he is. All disgusting pieces flying about and growing back," she scoffed, deceiving frail arms crossed at the chest. "You take his network, you might as well just use him for target practice," she nodded her wisdom, waving a dismissing hand at the room at general, "you want to make pretty for the public? Just use the usual losers. People won't care about who as long as their empty heads are entertained."

"But-" The executive tried intervening. His mouth was promptly shut by green energy.

"Shut it! Your voice annoys me!" Tatsumaki complained, turning bored eyes at Zombieman. "What? You are still there? Scram, Zombie creepy, you are useless here." She leveled him with a serious gaze, all her psychic power swimming in her stare, consideration heavy in the air.

Zombieman nodded and exited the room.

As he closed the door on a classical 'Tatsumaki Tirade', his chest warmed with gratefulness.

o.O.o

"Why is it called sidewalk?" Was Badd's philosophical question over his bowl of lamen. "I mean, it's not like there is a 'mainwalk', right?" He inquired his attentive audience.

"I think there must be more to it," Zombieman replied, after giving the problem due consideration. "Maybe it's related to the fact that cars and other heavy transportations circulate in the middle, while people have to walk on the sides," he proposed, sipping his tea.

"Yeah, there's that," Badd agreed, slurping some noodles. He picked the bowl up and brought it to his lips, drinking the soup left. He lowered with a satisfied sigh, but a deeper scowl was marking his face. "But what about places without roads? It's still called sidewalk! But it's not the side, because there are no sides!" He angrily said, drawing curious glances from the chef behind the counter and another customer next to them.

Zombieman remained silent, raising his cup again to hide a smile. Conversations with Badd were usually inane like that, with strange topics that could go on for long. Zombieman enjoyed these kind of talks, they were relaxing and fun, requiring outside thinking and quite a lot of creativity. He could do imagination, it was just another part of his investigative work, but using it in this manner was refreshing in a way no cigarette could be.

"I suppose people are just lazy then," Zombieman answered. "They didn't want to think of another name."

"That's so true, dude," Badd enthusiastically agreed. "Like when-"

There was the sound of a phone vibrating and a song playing- was that Sweet Mask's hit?- and Badd dropped everything to answer.

"Hey sis'," he said, raising a finger to excuse himself, jumping from his seat and moving away.

Zombieman finished his tea and payed for their meals, since the last times he had only contributed with the drinks. He exited the small restaurant, reclining against the wall to take in the sky in the setting sun. He thought about lighting a cigar, but quickly forgone the idea, mindful of the food places near.

There were footsteps from the side, attracting his attention. There was a young male, close to thirties, with an conspicuous camera hanging from his neck. His nose was crooked, as if broken and not set correctly, and his eyes had an yellowish and greenish hue around them that spoke of a healing injury.

He stopped a few feet from Zombieman, blatantly staring. The hero stared back as evenly.

After quiet instants, the man shrugged, raised the camera and took a single shot, before continuing his way into the restaurant.

Zombieman didn't think much of the interaction, since there were all kinds of people around, and as rude as it was taking pictures without authorization, it was far from the worst that had been done to him.

Until the shouting began.

Zombieman wouldn't have bothered, he didn't deal with civilian day- to- day scruffles, but Badd's voice was among the discussion, sounding truly enraged.

"- serious?! I got nothing to do with it, man! Stop fucking with me!" Badd was waving his hand eloquently, bat carefully set against the wall and out of his hands. The man was in his way, apparently preventing the teen from leaving, the patron and only customer eyeing the interaction paralyzed, clearly at loss in how to react.

"Like you don't know who gave me two black eyes and a broken nose!" The man was screeching, a wild energy in his movements. Zombieman couldn't see his face, entering behind him, but there was the sound of a twisted smile marring his speech. "Don't think I didn't see that white hair and slim body!" He threatened, patting his device foundly. "Just as you were leaving, I got a few shots in. What do you think the Hero Association- no- the whole world will think when they find out that Metal Bat, S class hero, is best buddies with He-"

"Excuse me," Zombieman laid a hand on the guy's shoulder, interrupting the tirade. "Please step outside, you are blocking the way and bothering the other customer."

"You listen here-" He tried arguing.

"Sir, please, step outside." Zombieman repeated, increasing his grip.

The man looked at Zombieman again, really seeing him this time. The hero could see the exact moment realization hit him, making the man smile pleasantly, totally ignoring Badd, who had gone quiet. "Of course, Zombieman-san, lead the way."

The three of them soon stood on a side street, away from main traffic and pedestrians. Badd had followed, still quiet, visibly more calm, almost resigned. He stood with the bat casually resting on his shoulder, hand in his pocket, looking anywhere but at them.

"You might find interesting, Zombieman-san, that a hero S class like yourself has been making acquaintance with the infamous and still searched Hero Hunter, Human Monster Garou," he told with a peeved smirk, liking his lips while tellig the salacious breaking news. "I have very convincing photos from the day I was attacked, and a few more I managed to get at a later date," he lowered his voice, in a stage whisper, throwing an amused glance Badd's way. "They were in another kind of fight, if you catch my meaning."

Zombieman saw Badd dry swallow, face still turned away, carefully blank, his grip bloodless on the bat.

"I have a few samples with me, the rest is safe in another place. I will be more than willing to share with the HA, with some sort of compensation." He smirked again, rubbing his thumb and pointer fingers together, the universal sign for money.

Zombieman swallowed his own disgust at the man, keeping carefully controlled.

"I thank you for your service to the public, keeping tabs on a dangerous criminal," he started, tone as smooth as always. "However, I must insist you do not disclose those pictures."

The man's smile froze on his face, trying and failing to keep composed. "I don't think you understand what's going on here. Either your association pays me, or I find someone who will. The difference is that I can't imagine anyone else not spreading this juicy material."

Badd made a wordless sound, brow furrowed in an angry scowl, taking a step forward as if to bash the guy's head. He wouldn't, because Metal Bat was a hot headed, bratish tennager, but an S class hero with a golden heart. Zombieman wasn't.

He grabbed the man by the collar, violently pushing him against the wall. He cocked his gun under the man's chin, delighting in his frightened stare at the clicking of the safety.

"I believe you are the one with a misconception," he calmly berated, letting the lowkey desire for destruction slowly increase, fueling his crazed stare. "Badd, thanks for dinner, I will take care of this." He said, briefly turning to the frozen teen, who looked more spooked than the man under gun point. "I will see you next week, in city E, yes?" At the silence received, he allowed a kind smile to touch his lips, winking at Badd.

The other hero snapped out of his state, his mouth hanging open in an almost perfect 'oh' shape.

"Y-yeah," he agreed, backing away, "see you, Zombie-san." And he turned to go.

"W-wait!" The man, still under the gun, with panic clear in his eyes, cried. "You are leaving? He will kill me! Aren't you guys heroes?!"

Badd didn't even turn, spinning his bat carelessly.

"We are off duty," he answered, already turning the corner, "and I saw nothing, ain't nothing to do."

The man turned fearful eyes at the undead. Zombieman usually didn't delighted in other's suffering, but he couldn't deny a kick at making someone giving a friend pain piss his pants. The craving of revenge, desire for retaliation and an unprecedented protectiveness bloomed in his chest, making his head swim with a frenzied energy of too many emotions at once. It was exhilarating, like taking a deep breath after staying underwater for so too long, or at least that's how he thought it was. He loved it.

It turned his red eyes wildly dangerous, and his smile disturbingly cheerful, turning him into a nightmarish vision.

"Now it's just you and me," he affirmed, "how about you tell me of those photos?"

…

They met again in the park. Contrary to the dark mood established between them, the day was as bright as ever, with birds singing in the trees and sound of children playing in the distance.

Badd was by far the most agitated, moving his feet and changing the grip on his bat constantly. At least it wasn't on an aggressive manner, nor did he seem afraid of Zombieman. Only later did the man remember that Metal Bat had never seen him fight, had never witnessed the literal blood bath he produced, nor the energy behind every swing and shot necessary to kill monster physically stronger than him, and keep fighting after dying time and time again. It wasn't pretty, much less pleasant to see.

Zombieman remained calm, because that was all he could do. Badd had had at least three chances and reasons to end relations with him, and he proved the undead mistaken everytime, he could only hope this time would be the same.

"So, before anything, what happened to that guy?" Badd questioned, curiosity clearly taking the best of him and surpassing his nerves. "I mean, I don't think you killed him or anything, but what happened?" He changed words, still hesitating, unlike his usual loud self.

"I made him give me the rest of the photos, everything," he recounted. "Then made him promise to stop harassing you and other heroes." He told, without going into details. "If you are asking if he is eating through a straw and communicating with blinks, I am afraid that's not the state I left him." He added lightly, eliciting a small chuckle for the teen. "He is quite well, maybe more self aware and with better survival instincts, but in one piece." He leveled Badd with a careful stare. "Apparently better than last time you encountered him?" Zombieman finished, letting his sentence end in a curious lilt.

Badd grew awfully grave, his face contorting in almost pain, but the most telling tale of his unease and discomfort was when he let go all together of his bat, laying it by his feet.

"About Garou." He started, wringling his hands together, laying his elbows on his knees, appearing more tired than a teenager had any business looking. "I won't deny what is going on. You probably saw it already in the photos." He started, body tense, lips pressed together. His breathing was controlled, but Zombieman could see his heart frantically beating on a pulsing vein on his neck. "I can't tell you to not report on me. I just ask that you don't personally come after him and me, okay?" He pleaded, suddenly making eye contact, striking the absent breath out of Zombieman's chest. "And just leave Zenko and Akira be, they really shouldn't get-"

"Stop," Zombieman quietly requested, resting a hand on Badd's shoulder. They stayed silent for a few instants, Badd still fretting, Zombieman with the chest strangely compressed. Was it remorse? Maybe mortification? He couldn't pinpoint the awful feeling weighting his chest.

"I won't report on you, much less hunt you- both of you- down like rabid fugitives," he promised seriously, grip still tight on Badd's shoulder. "You are my friend and I trust you. If you think he is safe enough to be around your family, if you can forgive him and allow him in your heart, I have no reason to interfere." He smiled, moving away slightly. "Besides, I am sure he is aware Saitama is only some five blocks away from your house. He would be stupid to try anything funny with him right there." He clapped the younger on the back, testing the familiarity. "You can hold your own against him, I know it. But I am also only one phone call away, if you need it." Zombieman smoothly offered, feeling more sure.

It hurt that Badd had thought he would tell on him. However, he ached thinking that the teen had been seething the whole time, waiting for heroes to storm down his house, probably had sent Garou packing for some time and had told Akira and Zenko to stay away a few days.

He could almost see Badd waiting alone in the house, with resignation, the truth holding him unarmed and his conviction as only shield. Badd probably would have been taken without fanfare, Garou dispose off, and the world wouldn't even know what happened, bad publicity and all that. The internal personal, S class heroes and such, surely would know. The teen would be given hell by people that didn't understand his giving nature, couldn't see his kind heart.

The whole prospect was heartbreaking for Zombieman. The feeling of protectiveness came back, stronger than before.

"I have to tell you something," he started, feeling confident. He knew of Badd's complicated secret, he deserved to know of his.

"Wait," the teen called, turning on his seat. He looked at Zombieman wide eyed, relief not enabling him playing it cool as usual. "Dude, you already helped me so much. Seriously, I was completely fucked! If you weren't there I don't know what I'd have done," he dry swallowed again, looking away. "I don't know what would have happened to us." He raised his gaze, this time gripping Zombieman's forearm. "Don't tell me anything just to make things even, I don't really deserve it," he chuckled, embarrassed. "All I did was give you trouble. Thank you."

It was Zombieman's turn to chuckled with reproach.

"I should be the one thanking you," he smiled enigmatically.

Badd had made him feel alive.

o.O.o

Things went on pretty much as usual after that.

Zombieman holt his secret of discovering Saitama's way of unlocking his limiter, but the right time would come to tell Badd.

Cases came and went, massacres occurred, life moved on. There were more outings, Akira accompanied them to a few. There were two more meeting in his house, the other S class heroes and Fubuki showing up, much to Saitama's continued annoyment, but he never kicked anyone out.

There was only one thing missing.

"You wanna come over for dinner?" Badd's voice came from the phone. "Akira is making some special dish, he is not telling anyone what," he scoffed, but there was a smile in his voice, " Zenko will be here, and there might be someone else, too," he left it hanging at that, the meaning clear enough.

Zombieman agreed without hesitation.

He arrived at the residency just after sun down. Instead of beverages, this time he brought dessert: mochi in many flavours, from fruits to chocolat and green tea.

After knocking, Badd opened the door, the usual scowl letting up in a smile. He was quickly ushered inside, taking his boots off. As soon as he passed the teen the bag of sweets, he also took his coat off. It made him feel vulnerable, it's heavy weight a grounding presence, but it was freeing, too, moving so lightly inside another's home. Because this place was definitely home, with four pairs of shoes in the genkan, photos on the walls and small memorabilia lying around, a pillow here, a stuffed toy, all reminds that there lived a family.

"Zenko, come say hi," Badd called to the house at large. "Zombie-san is here."

There was cluttering and conversation from the kitchen, but the soft footsteps came from the living room right next to the genkan. Zenko appeared, pushing the sliding door aside to step into the corridor. She solemnly gazed up at Zombieman.

They had met before, back at Akira's place. However, with so many people, he hadn't actually spoken more than a few words to her. "Hello, thank you for having me over," he bowed slightly, smiling.

She bowed back, even more serious. "Welcome," she politely said, before straightening and approaching a step, almost touching her small pink clad feet to his. "Badd-onii-san says you are a good friend of his. May I call you Zombie-nii-san?" She requested formally, unwavering stare meeting his dead on. She definitely was Metal Bat's sister, even the scowl the same.

"Please do, Zenko," he agreed, smitten despite himself. Children weren't his main -small- fanbase, and they rarely came up on investigations, so he didn't have much interaction with them. However, he liked how trusting kids could be, how they, too, were discovering the world and understanding human nature. Chiĺd Emperor also helped, though he wasn't what one would call a standard ten years old.

"Welcome, welcome!" Akira came strutting down the corridor, apron and bandana still on, stains of some kind on the clothe. "Oh, you went all out!" He exclaimed upon accepting the bag of sweets, pecking inside. "All wrapped up! I love surprises." He winked at Zombieman.

"Not at all. Just a simple thanking gift," he chuckled, gaze warming despite himself, the inviting and friendly reception quickly putting him at ease, their comforting presence more than compensating for his lack of heavy weaponry.

"I do enjoy a polite man," Akira appreciatively commented, smirking. "There are only brutes around here, Zombie-nii-san." He didn't have time to react, the teen already turning to Badd. "Set the table, yeah? We're almost done, despite your lover boy being a complete disaster in the kitchen."

Then, there was that heavy presence, that instantly made Zombieman itch for his machete and his shotgun. A monster lurked just around the corner, the feeling of anticipation before a fight pilling in his chest. He kept carefully controlled, reminding himself there were no enemies here.

"Oi!" The Hero Hunter, Human Monster Garou called, only his head peeking from the kitchen. "Who was the fu- the _baka_ that told me to help?!" He growled, a bandana just like Akira's holding his white wild hair together, stains and flour dirtying his face. The vicious aurea vanished instantly.

Their eyes quickly met, Garou's scowl melting away. He looked aside almost immediately and scoffed, disappearing.

"You are totally slacking back there!" Akira loudly called, moving in stomps to the other room.

There were more grumbling from the kitchen, some cluterring of pans and clicking of glass, but nothing seemed amiss. Badd and Zenko had started tidying the low table in the living room, setting plates, bowls and silverware that awaited on the corner.

"Zombie-san, can you reach the-" There was the sudden sound of glass breaking from the other room, startling the teen, who visibly jumped.

"What are they doing?" Badd grumbled, running to the kitchen, though he didn't seem too alarmed.

Zombieman kneeled next to Zenko to help finish setting everything, it was quickly since it had almost been ready. He didn't think much of the apparent small accident.

"Garou-nii has been a little jumpy," Zenko suddenly shared, face as stoic as always, fingers slowly adjusting the perfect placed spoon. "Since we had a sleepover at Saitama-nii's new house." She quietly complemented, a scowl furring her brow.

Zombieman nodded. He had imagined something like that might have happened, but he hadn't brought it up with Badd. He filed the information that Saitama had moved away for later investigation.

"He got grumpy when he heard we were having you over for dinner. That's why Akira-nii-san put him to work in the kitchen," she added as an afterthought. "He usually settles after punching dough for a few hours." She smiled a bit at that. "Sometimes we make dumplings together."

"Sounds fun," he gently commented, smiling. "You must like him a lot." He slyly proded.

"Garou-nii is a baka," she said with such conviction and seriousness it evicted a startled snicker from him. "But so are Badd-nii-san and Akira-nii-san." That's all she said, and all he needed to know.

There were three pairs of footsteps from the corridor: a skipping one, a stomping one and a dragged one.

"Alright, thank you for waiting!" Akira entered with the usual energy, carrying a large pot with brownish golden broth, a warm and delicious smell emanating from it. Badd was just behind, with the rice pan. Garou entered last, chewing, demurely holding a tray with fried pork, innocently not looking at the ominous empty spaces on the plate.

"How do you feel about Katsu curry, Zombie-nii-san?" Akira set the pot on the table, huffing as if exerting great strength, Badd and Garou silently shuffling after him.

"I have never eaten it homemade," he said, gaze running over the three of them. Akira posed as his usual self, but Badd seemed tense now, Garou timid, passing the impression of being on guard.

They sat, Zombieman next to Akira, in front of Badd and Zenko. Garou sat at the head of the table, the farthest from the guest as possible.

There was silence at first, everyone digging in with enthusiasm, despite the awkward air. Zombieman focused on the food, waiting. He had come here to see Badd's home, his family. Understand why and how an enemy had turned into something so important, what part of human nature could enable a person like that.

Judging wasn't really his place, not when he had been so warmly accepted.

Badd suddenly set his spoon down, not violently or too quickly, he simply stopped eating. He moved his jaw as if testing it, scowl deeping into a determined frown, eyes atent, almost ready for a fight.

"Garou," he called, managing to sound casual despite the whole process of preparation Zombieman witnessed. Said teen jumped slightly, clearly caught unaware, he faced Badd with a raised brow, spoon still stuffed in his mouth.

Badd frowned at him, intently staring until Garou shrugged and lowered the spoon, swallowing.

"This is my friend, Zombieman," he formally introduced. He turned to the man, "Zombie-san, this is my boyfriend, Garou," he said, just as polite. He seemed tense, ready to argue, to fight, like those simple statements would cause ruckus and he was to battle.

"Pleasure to meet you," Zombieman smiled, nodding.

Garou frowned, pouting not unlikely a crossed child, ignoring the salutation completely and going back to wolfing down food. He threw sporadic glances at Zombieman, gauging his reaction to the rude treatment. The man just smiled lightly, entertained at the brattish behaviour from such a dangerous person. If Garou was comfortable enough to be passive aggressive, then things should be fine.

Badd didn't seem to think so.

"Oi, quit it." He growled, starting to get angry.

"No fighting," Akira and Zenko said at the same time, without missing a beat. That settled Badd a bit, who went back to eating to keep his mouth occupied.

Akira smiled at Zombieman, lowering his voice in a mock whisper. "Told you, just brutes around here." He them proceeded to run his mouth about the usual kinds of torture the civilized people, he, Zenko and Tama the cat, had to endure in the hands of those two.

It was an animated narrative, with obvious exaggerations and worthy of accurate impressions. Zenko laughed at those and Zombieman smiled during most of the anecdotes. Badd grumbled under his breath, but hid a smirk behind his cup of tea every time. Even Garou seemed to relax, lulled by the constant stream of harmless chatter.

The dinner proceeded with tale afte tale, going into hilarious childhood memories, drawing Badd and Zenko into the story telling. The siblings easily recounted uncountable times Akira himself had been insufferable. Garou couldn't hold in a few quips of his own, attacking the three others and even bad mouthing the cat, that still hadn't shown. Zombieman couldn't help throwing a question or another, and Badd was always happy to indulge.

Soon, they were all talking, mainly Badd and Garou, throwing jokes and smiles and secret glances. The ice had been melted, whatever problem had been going on seemed put aside. Zombieman looked at Akira, silent for a while now, sipping his tea. Once noticing the stare, the teen merely smiled, winking. The man nodded, grateful.

"So you just regenerate?" Garou was asking, intrigued and grudgingly admired.

"Yes, everything grows back," he replied, as he had many times to other people. He was used to the inquires, the awkward stares and hesitant interactions that followed. However, here, in Badd's house, there had only been nonchalantly acceptance, like his resurrection was no more a particular trait than his hair color. It was refreshing.

Akira and Zenko started gathering the dishes, and Zombieman promptly offered to help. He was given the pile of plates and silverware by a solem Zenko. "Careful," she admonished in a well used tone, "it's heavy."

"Thank you, I will be mindful." He and Akira moved to the kitchen first, laying their cargo in the sink.

"Thanks for coming," Akira lowly said, running the tap. "It meant a lot to us, even Garou, that dipshit," he started doing the dishes, eyes focused on the job. "Those two have the emotional range of eight years old, please be patient, Zombieman." He seriously explained, voice and hands unwavering.

"I will remember that," he easily agreed.

They converged to the living room again, now with the mocchi Zombieman had brought. Zenko insisted he had a few himself, and Badd supported his sister. Akira brought more tea, and just as he laid the pot down, his cellphone rang.

"Moshi moshi, Akira here," he answered in his easytone, moving slightly away.

Garou had started a tale of his own about his training days, recounting with enthusiasm one prank or another the other students had played on a senpai. Zenko and Badd hanged to every word, and Zombieman listened attentive.

"-let's say no one was happy with the snoring-" Garou was telling, gesturing wildly. Akira came back into the room silently, crouching next to Badd and whispering something to him. The hero clearly tensed, his comfortable visage snapping away, eyes burning and frown deep, the air around him the heaviest Zombieman had seen.

Akira laid a hand on his shoulder and bestowed him a serious look, speaking something else. Badd's lips thinned, his fists closed tightly, but he nodded, resolutely remaining seated.

"-so we never approached that futon again," Garou finished, drawing a giggle from Zenko and strained smile from Badd. The human monster glanced between the two friends, easily percepting something amiss.

"I have to get going, you guys finish here without me," Akira charmingly beamed, standing. "Thank you for coming, Zombie-nii-san, it was a pleasure." He bowed a bit. "No need to stand, stay comfortable." He ran a hand through Garou's hair, evicting a growl and swap from him, patted Badd's head as if complimenting a well behaved dog and laid a kiss on Zenko's forehead, coming around the table to reach Zombieman.

"May I?" He asked, extending questioning arms in Zombieman's direction. The man couldn't say he was surprised, but he startled, because he realised, aside from brief contact on motorbike rides, he had never been hugged before.

He still nodded, since he had no good reason to deny, and he found himself suddenly curious about the gesture he had seen many perform. He wondered if it would be brief, with Akira patting his back a couple of times and retreating, or just a thrown arm over his shoulders with a firm squeeze.

Well, Akira didn't do anything half assed, because he kneeled and enveloped the hero in a shameless embrace, arms comfortably going under his arms and hugging his back, pressing their torsos together, laying his head on the man's shoulder.

Zombieman wondered if the teen had been waiting for him to take off his coat to do this, since it would have been both uncomfortable and possibly dangerous trying.

He returned the gesture to the best of his abilities, enjoying the feel of another's heat warming his cold body, the gentle press of another being to him, comfortable and safe. This much body contact usually meant close combat with a deadly monster, having to grapple for the kill.

Zombieman felt his body relax, and couldn't name the feelings that assaulted him them. Something between _happiness _and _belonging _with a touch of more. It was incredible.

Akira soon retreated, slowly, allowing the hero to enjoy the contact as long as possible. The teen smiled at him brightly, honestly, even though a strain was present around his eyes, a heavy thought clouding his mind. It gave Zombieman the impression that he would have hugged him longer, if only something important didn't need his attention.

"Call if you can't find aniki," Badd demanded, still crossed, "and tell him to walk you home, it's getting late."

"Yes, honey, will do so, love," Akira boredly recited, leaving.

….

The night had come to a soon end after that, on a more serious tone than he had hoped for. Zombieman was walked to his motorcycle by a grave Badd.

"Thanks for coming, man," he said, meaning it, hands stuffed in his pockets and frowning. "It was nice."

"Indeed," Zombieman agreed, hesitating next to his bike, a question pending on his lips.

Badd kicked a peddle, showing no urge to leave yet, dwelling.

"So…" The teen started, shrugging vaguely. "That was my family," he stated, sounding both finite and simple, like an explanation and an excuse wrapped into one.

"It's lovely," Zombieman commented. Badd snickered, a smirk blooming on his lips, shaking his head. "Not the word I'd use, but, yeah-" He cracked his neck, looking away, "- it's perfect for me," he quietly confessed.

"I could see that," Zombieman answered. "It seemed perfect for Garou, too." He threw in. "I am glad you have found each other. Last time I saw him, he wasn't in the best shape."

"No shit," Badd laughed, a bit desperately. "Aniki had to punch some sense into him." He exhaled tiredly, running a hand through his hair, messing the hairdo. "He is better, almost normal- as normal as we can get. He got his head straight and is even making up with Bang." He stopped suddenly, eyes bugging out a bit. "Oh shit, well, I didn't mean to say that, but I guess it's cool that you know." He shrugged. "But aniki still doesn't know he's around, much less Genos."

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," Zombieman promised. "I am sure Akira will find a way to tell him sooner or later."

"Yeah, the day that one goes speechless…" he sighted. Badd scratched his neck, crossed his arms, frowned, restless again. "Most of your work is investigative, right?" He suddenly asked.

Zombieman was taken back, surprised by the change of topic. "Yes, it is." He answered simply.

"Could you-" Badd stopped, as sudden as the question was, looking away, rubbing a hand across his mouth. "Nevermind, Zombie-san. Good night, please come again." He murmured, hesitating before taking a step closer and throwing a hasty arm over his shoulder, patting his back twice in an awkward, but well meaning, hug.

Badd left with his head down, quickly steps and ears red.

Zombieman felt warmth spreading across his chest, despite the lack of hot blood pumping through his veins. He waited until Badd disappeared around a corner to mount his bike and speed away.

o.O.o

"Now this should take care of anything as big as a Tiger threat," Child Emperor was saying, using his backpack claws to present the heavy shotgun.

"Thank you, I am sorry to have bothered you about this." Zombieman felt the weapon's weight, opening the cartridge camber and taking a look.

"It was no problem. It's fun sometimes working on things that don't run on energy." He said smiling.

They were in Child Emperor's lab, down in city Y. The HA usually was responsible for the maintenance of Zombieman's weapons, but this time they hadn't been so forthcoming, probably due to their denied request. Even though there was a lot of politics and shady administration mixed with well meaning directors, the man wasn't too worried about that, and expected them to get their acts straight soon enough.

Meanwhile, he still needed his guns in top shape. He had resorted to asking the person with better knowledge in technology, heavy weaponry and resources he could think of, and Child Emperor had been the first option. Metal Knight had briefly come to mind, but the egocentric hero had quickly been discarded.

The younger had been more than agreeable to help, going as far offering tinkerings of his own to improve the guns' performance. Zombieman was no fool, and had accepted.

"Same bullets, but the accuracy and power should have improved up to 30%." The boy nonchalantly estimated.

"Impressive. The scientists in the Association have developed and done maintenance on these dozens of times and couldn't make them any better." Zombieman complimented, truly admired, but not surprised.

"Just some thinking outside the box," he modestly replied, looking down as he smiled, pleased.

"Still, thank you."

"The Hero Association should know better than leaving a S class hero- any hero, really- without support like this." Child Emperor seriously mused, turning to his computer, which was deserving of a screen as tall as him. He pulled graphics and statistics, running his eyes over the information. "I don't think that's the first time they have done something like that. Apparently, they have been trying to keep a closer look on the heroes, since the public opinion turned sour after the Monster Association arouse." He concluded. "It spread quite quickly how they tried turning you into a poster boy, those guys are getting ridiculous." He grumbled, opening a lollipop.

"Indeed," Zombieman agreed blankly.

"Not that you aren't an exemplar hero," Child Emperor quickly backtracked. "It just doesn't seem to fit your…" He hesitated at that, at loss of sensitive words.

"My zodiac animal?" Zombieman playfully suggested. The younger giggled at that, caught by surprise. "Perhaps my fashion style? It can be a bit intimidating." He joked, pulling at his coat's lapels

"I was going to say profile," Child Emperor smiled after another chuckle escaped his lips. He put the candy in his mouth. "It sounded too impersonal an analysis," he mumbled, looking away.

Zombieman looked with gentle eyes at the other. Child Emperor was one of the most promising S class heroes, in his opinion. Both resourceful and powerful in his own manner, Child Emperor was also genuinely caring, seeing missions as objectives, but never losing sight of the true meaning of being a hero, which was to help people.

When the Monster Association striked, he hadn't employed days of research and years of battle technology into a mission just because it was ordered of them. He had done it because a child, similar in age but so different in everything else, had been in danger. It didn't matter whose son the hostage had been, all Child Emperor had cared about was knowing another person's life had been in jeopardy, and he could do something to help.

Zombieman admired that sort of commitment, so closely related it was to his own convictions. It was no surprise he had come closer to Metal Bat as well, since the teen posed the same philosophy.

The feeling of _kinship_ was deep along those two heroes, and such integrity, among so few people, still made him feel more accepted and included in a work environment than a whole organization had ever done.

But Child Emperor, despite all his knowledge and maturity, was still only ten years old. He still questioned himself, still looked for approval. People in general were like that, but one so young had different needs. Zombieman didn't interact with children a lot, but he could recognize when a kind word made someone stand taller, could tell when his actions made a difference in someone's life.

Child Emperor took his work seriously, so Zombieman tried to get him to relax when possible, that is why he asked if he had been having fun at the onsen, that is why he inquired him about non-hero related projects, that is why he praises the other's cool headed assessments and noble decisions.

People were naturally attracted to Child Emperor. He had an appeal to adults, for his childish complexion reminded people of their own kids, and was a hole model for other children, easily more relatable. But there weren't many people that saw him as anything else than a hero in a child's body, or a child playing at heroship, without realizing he was neither. That made it difficult to anyone understand him.

"You seem happier, these days," Child Emperor suddenly said, smiling mischievously, "you have always been polite, but I couldn't imagine you joking like that before. It's nice," he complimented, keeping his gaze averted.

Zombieman pondered on that for a few instants, already knowing it true.

"I've been making friends," he honestly answered. The child nodded, understanding.

"I realised. You started hanging with Metal Bat right? He always leaves with you on the bike." He commented, already turning to his computer again, "he seems a bit too brash, but I suppose he is an honest person, so that counts for something," he opined.

Zombieman laughed, gathering his weapons. "That he is," he agreed. "But Badd is very caring, too. In his own way," he added, quietly.

Child Emperor stopped typing, looking down, he munched on the candy slowly. Zombieman stood next to him, patient.

Child Emperor didn't have anyone to really connect, it couldn't be easy making friends.

"Do you meet your friends regularly?" He gently asked. He wasn't sure what the reaction would be, nor the answer, but he wanted to know, to understand.

The child shrugged, vague in a way he never was. Zombieman was slightly guilt in pressuring him like this, but he wished to help.

"I don't think I really have time for friends," was the squiving answer. "It's not like I go to school and club activities, and I have a lot of projects going on right now, not to speak of the daily Monster's monitoring I have to overview." He elaborated, sounding more confident.

"Does that bother you?" Zombieman threw the real inquiry. That made Child Emperor freeze, lollipop halfway to his lips. "I know your work is important, it helps hundreds- thousands- of people. However, is it enough to make you happy?"

The child sat with eyes distant, mind deep in thought, troubled. He lowered his candy, forgotten, silent for long seconds, truly thinking about the question.

"I-" He hesitated, conflicted. "I don't know. I'm not sure." Was the honest admission. He turned wide eyes up to the man, looking and sounding his age. "I want to say that it is, but it feels like a lie." He turned his gaze down, ashamed. "I want to say that I don't need to see my friends, but I m-miss them." He confessed quietly, stuttering in mortification, blushing and raising his shoulders, hiding. It was the most uncomfortable Zombieman had ever seen him.

"It's been a while since we last met," he continued, face turned downward. "I am afraid they will just see me as a hero, will only care about that." He picked at the lollipop wrapper. "I used to design toys so we would play together. But after a monster destroyed half of our school I thought: why not make a sentinel? A guard? So I built myself a hero to keep my family and friends safe." He shrugged, as if it was _that_ easy, and for him it probably was. "Then corporates came knocking, talking to my parents, to me. The rest is history, I became a high ranking hero. I never met my friends again." He whispered the last part. "I'm not up to date with the animes we saw, and I find most of the toys I made terribly boring, now." E clenched his little fists, glaring at them, before continuing.

"I'm more afraid of not knowing what to talk to them about than not seeing them at all!" He exclaimed, frustrate with himself. "It's pathetic, it's _childish_!" He spitted the words, lips twisted in disgust.

"It is not childish, much less pathetic." Zombieman assured, laying a hand on his head, putting a stop to his unveiling emotions. "Since I started going out more, I realized I looked forward to meeting people again," he shared. "Those people are my friends now, and there are days I just want to see them because I simply miss them," he shrugged, good natured. "I used to be afraid of just calling, thinking I would be imposing," he confessed, the feeling of _embarrassment_ weighing his tongue. "But now I see it was unnecessary."

Child Emperor looked at him from under his fringe, gaze heavy and considering.

"My parents say friends are for kids, and that I'm not a kid anymore," he brusquely said. Zombieman felt a sudden wave of _shock _followed quickly by anger. Child Emperor said nothing more, but his serious eyes, calm demeanor and determinade visage were all Zombieman needed.

Child Emperor wasn't a hero in a child's body, nor a child playing at heroship. He was simply a hero, that happened to be a child. He had abilities civilians could only dream of, but he had barriers only a child could understand, no matter how responsible and mature he was. And a child had to listen to their parents.

"I see," Zombieman replied, before patting his head one last time and retreating. "Thank you again, Child Emperor. I will be seeing you."

"Wait," he called, blushing again. "You can call me by my name. You are the only friend I have in the HA."

"What is your name?" He questioned, a bit smitten.

The child fidget, biting a piece off his candy and hastily chewing. "It's embarrassing, come closer." He mumbled.

Zombieman holt a chuckle, knowing it would offend the other, allowing only a smile to shine through. He obliged, kneeling and bringing his ear closer, nodding at the whispered word.

"It's a pleasure," he whispered back the name, before standing again. Child Emperor beamed pleased, more relaxed, still flustered.

Zombieman strode out of the lab with purposeful steps, psyching himself to an interesting conversation.

Was this how teachers felt when dealing with blundering parents?

o.O.o

"- was it today worse than the other times?" Badd huffed, stretching as they stood from the table in the meeting room.

"Unfortunately, it was," Zombieman agreed, grave. Badd's grumblings usually brought some mirth with them, but today he was dead serious, more than simply displeased and bored. As other heroes followed, quiet and tense, it only served to confirm that things were indeed getting worse.

The most telling sign that something was amiss was that Tatsumaki had been silent the whole meeting. That itself wasn't a novelty, but considering the decaying topics, how sheer ridiculous they were turning, the heroes had started throwing glances at her, waiting for their most influential spokesperson to arise.

But she hadn't. Tatsumaki had sat quietly, apathetic, like it was far too much energy to be spend on such pointless argument. It had been a distressing sight, because despite the clash of egos and weapons, everyone knew Tatsumaki was the most powerful, had the most sway with directors and executives if only for her ability to terrify them. The S class heroes were among the strongest humans in the world, but for all their power, they were uncoordinated, selfish. They couldn't even organize themselves to put their feet down and tell the HA that they were being ridiculous. Had Zombieman thought he could sway them, he would have said something.

Tatsumaki had always been the most annoying one, complaining loudly and rudely. However, not one of the heroes had called her a liar, not one had disagreed with any of her critics, because she was right. Her sudden omission was a stark contrast, like turning the lights off the room and realizing night had fallen long ago.

Zombieman didn't care about himself, but he cared about people in general, worried about other heroes, had friends to think of. Now, presented with such dark prospects, he felt _fear _and _apprehension _so strong it made him itch for one cigarette or twenty.

"Metal Bat, one last word," one of the board members called before he could leave. Most heroes were gone, but the few around threw unease glances between the board and the teen before hurrying out.

Zombieman looked at the hero, and found him already staring directly at him, eyes wider than normal. The taller nodded slightly.

"Yeah, sure." The teen kicked a chair from the table and slouched on it, nonchalantly. Zombieman quietly sat next to him.

"It would be a private matter with Metal Bat, Zombieman." Another member warned. "It would be most appropriate-"

"Na, it's cool." Badd interfered, flapping a dismissing hand. "Whatever it is, I am sure Zombie-san will hear about it sooner or later."

The five people before them exchanged looks, continuing after a few of them shrugged, a clear dismissal.

"Very well. We have called you apart to approach a delicate subject." The one in the middle started, the usual severe tone used to deliver mission being used. "Participating of a great organization and standing among the highest ranking heroes, you are, doubtlessly, one of our member of greatest importance. That entails expectations and certain postures that need to be befitting of-"

"Stop." Badd barked, a deep scowl marrying his face. He moved his jaw, grinding his teeth. "Just get to the point, I have to be home for dinner."

The board members were displeased at the interruption, but nevertheless complied.

"Shortly, it has been called to the public attention that you are in a relationship with another male. We particularly don't care about heroes' private lives. However when it gets such attention, we need to manage the occurrence." The man in the middle efficiently delivered.

"We would like you to end the relation. Statistics show that hetero couples, compose of two heroes, gather much more positive reviews than-" The woman on the left started, being interrupted as Badd stood violently, sending his chair toppling back.

He didn't say anything, just left without a glance back. Zombieman calmly stood, nodding at the disgruntled people present, and went after Badd.

He found him on the garage, gripping his bat strongly enough to leave dents on the weapon, biting his lip viciously, drawing blood, breathing deeply, eyes squeezed shut, tension bleeding from his posture. The telling vein on his neck tattled an erratic heartbeat.

Zombieman said nothing, there were no words to sooth such unfairness or damnation strong enough to condemn so extreme disrespect.

He quietly mounted the bike, waiting patiently until Badd released a deep sigh, following suit.

Instead of flying through the cities, Zombieman steered at the limit, drawing the trip for as long as possible. As soon as Badd realized what he was doing, he firmly gripped the driver's upper arm, squeezing gratefully.

Zombieman couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, it would have been better if the Hero Association had fallen under the Monster's claws

…

He parked the bike and walked Badd home. They stood silent in the front porch, the sky dark, lights coming from the windows.

"Wanna stay for dinner?" Badd offered, sounding disheartened, but gazing hopefully at Zombieman.

"Yes, please."

There really was no other answer.

…

It was much quieter than the last one. Feeling Badd's heavy thoughts and weary complexion, Akira left him be, talking lower, gentler. Garou arrived mid meal, quickly taking the empty space left for him and shoveling food down his throat after a brief salutation.

"Badd, 'Kira, Z, Dead-guy," he had nodded at them.

That night Tama showed up, rubbing and meowing at Badd as he chewed, sensing his sour mood. He offered her a piece of the fish, but she didn't take it, choosing to butt her head against his hand until he smiled, petting her soft fur.

Tama circled the table, nose in the air, until she approached Zombieman. She stared with unflinching eyes at him, ears up and attentive, stark still. He stared back.

She suddenly blinked, moving closer and rubbing her whole side against him. He laid a careful hand on her back, feeling her skin shift, her cool fur, touching for the first time a cat. It was an addictive feeling, the surface and give most pleasant against his palm and finger tips. She started rumbling, producing a pleasant hum, purring.

"She likes you," Zenko helpfully explained after them all stared a long while at the happy cat.

"I like her, too," he replied. Badd, despite the draining day, smiled openly at that, too tired to play it cool. "It the first time I pet a cat," he shared, scratching under her chin, her eyes closed in pleasure.

"Wouldn't know, looking at this," Garou threw in between bites.

"I thought you might have a soft spot for them, since you saved one during that time with the glob monster," Badd said, surprised.

Zombieman contemplated on that, vaguely remembering a time he had ducked a cat out of harm's way. It had been more about saving a life that need not end than particularly caring about the species. Now, after actually meeting a cat, he could see their appeal.

The night came to a natural closure. The dishes were cleaned and food was packed, Zenko said her goodnites, briefly hugging Zombieman around the waist, going to bed. The warm feeling in his chest followed him outside, as Badd accompanied him.

They said nothing as the bike came into view, nor as they stood by it in silence. Badd didn't scowl, but his lips twisted in displeasure, his hands closed into tight fists. He would have a lot of thinking to do the following days.

Zombieman had come to many conclusions after living some time.

One was that life was precious.

Second, that there was more to _living _than just breathing.

Third, people were, plainly put, stupid.

"I will bash someone," Badd suddenly muttered, staring with tired eyes at the cloudy sky. "Probably myself."

"We will figure this out together," Zombieman proposed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever you want to do, I will help."

Badd exhaled a long breath, laying a hand over Zombieman's. He didn't quite smile at the undead, too raw still, but gratefulness shone in his eyes. Zombieman though it unnecessary, considering how much Badd had already given him, but he couldn't deny that helping, being needed in some manner, felt good.

Zombieman wasn't used to this kind of help. Only recently had he really dived deeper into his emotions and understanding people. Child Emperor had been the first, in the beginning with supportive words, later with some much needed intervention. Then Badd, who, like himself, needed a friend among the HA.

He still wasn't completely adapted to it, but even he could percept when a hug would be welcomed.

He raised his arms in question, much like Akira had done all those nights ago. Badd blushed, looked away, but gladly stepped into his arms. They hugged longer than usual, but stepped back quicker than what they both needed.

They parted ways with no more than thrown glances and brief nods.

o.O.o

His phone rang as he left the abandoned factory, covered in blood and still missing some ribs, a cigarette dangling in what was slowly regenerating into his mouth. It has been a good day, tracking a Monster den and terminating it efficiently in a blood bath. He had only died twice, a record, considering this horde's size.

Zombieman fished his cell from his drenched coat. He couldn't answer yet, but he wanted to see who was it.

Akira's name shone on the screen, and a sheer sense of _dread_ attacked him swifter and stronger than any of the monsters he had just killed.

He rejected the call, but quickly sent a message.

_I can't use my mouth right now, but I can type. What is it?_

More direct than his usual speech, but it could be something important.

There were a few instants until the next message appeared.

_That sounded way too innuendo-ish, you shouldn't give people opennings like that. Anyway, B-chan told me about the other day, that sucked. He is thinking about quitting the HA, but is kinda divided. I said I would do whatever he wanted, safe finish our relationship, because I sure as hell am not letting this boy go, but I lied. A bit. Wanna help me show them how public relations are done?_

Zombieman read the message intrigued. He had expected Badd's family to intervene, but not quite like this.

_What do you have in mind? _He typed, curious. If Akira had an idea, he saw no problem in listening to it. At worst it would never help and they wouldn't execute it, at best it could solve their problems.

_First, can you get me some numbers…_

…

It was surprisingly easy to set a meeting with the board. Heroes probably had been squiving left and right from meetings, so anyone willingly contacting them was pulled through.

Badd stood by his right, keeping a straight face, his grip bloodless on the bat. Akira stood next to him, holding his other hand, their fingers comfortably intertwined. The younger hero hadn't even blinked when his friend had taken his hand, so many times he had done it already. It wasn't surprising more people thought they were in a relationship.

They were recepted by two of the members of the last meeting, both stared gravely at the teens, looking meaningfully at their clasped hands, sensing their resolution.

"Metal Bat, Zombieman," they were acknowledged. "Please, if you would-" The man indicated the door, but Akira swiftly intervened.

"Oh, don't worry about them, handsome." He flapped a hand. "This won't take too long. I believe your issue is with me." He smiled at Badd, kissing the back of his hand, before casually moving alone into the room without a glance back.

"Well, get on with it," Badd grumbled, stuffing the fred hand in his pocket, as the two men stood, paralysed, unsure in how to proceed.

They exchanged glances, gazed uneasily at the heroes, and hesitantly stepped into the room. The door clicked close without fanfare.

"That was a bad idea," Badd sighted, sounding defeated. "The worst I've had in a while."

"For all that's worth, I think it will work." Zombieman calmly reassured. "You said it yourself: he is an idiot, not stupid." He added in good humor, drawing a quirk from Badd's lips.

"Still-" He didn't have time to finish, as the door burst open with green energy.

"-time with this?!" They caught the end of Tatsumaki's tirade. "So what he is wasting time with a big mouthed idiot?! It's his IQ he is lowering! You think I have time for this! You said hero conduct had been breached, this has nothing to do with it! As long as he is not turning into a monster or killing people I don't care if he is exchanging spit with a hedgehog-headed baka! So what he is male?! What year are you living? You think this is the time to worry about whether people have dicks or not?! This is so useless, _you _are so useless, do I have to do everything by myself!?" There was a brief pause, probably as she stared expectantly at the terrified board. "Huh?! This one has more spine than any of you, not that's anything extraordinary. Just do whatever he says, it's smarter than anything you people have been able to come up with. I'm done with this, next time you wanna waste my time like this I'm sending this building flying to city W!" She downright screamed, suddenly flying out of the door.

She was flushed in anger, her green hair curling with latent psychic energy, like she couldn't help it, or didn't care enough to stop. Her shining eyes were immediately drawn to Badd and she flew up to him at alarming speed.

"Useless!" She shouted in the teen's face. "Your boyfriend is the most annoying person I have ever met in my life! You should just tell headquarters to leave it be, he is definitely not worth the trouble. If they wanna fire you for that, so be it! They should have let everyone go, you are all incompetent, anyway. I can do your job easier and quicker. If I have to scare you away, then I will go ahead and get rid of every S class hero there is!" She ranted without breathing. "They told me to either make you go packing or dump the guy, do you think I care?! You are making me-"

"Tatsumaki-nee-san," Akira called loudly, strolling from the room, making her maniacally turn to him. "You are very annoying." He complimented, smiling brightly at her.

The four of them froze. Badd's eyes were almost bugging out of his head, mouth hanging slack. Tatsumaki, too, hovered speechless, unbelieving that a civilian had thrown such commentary in her face.

Zombieman himself couldn't put the name on the _feeling _that assaulted him. It had a spice of surprise, mixed with dread, anticipation and a touch of mirth. He had killed off any self preservation he could have had long ago, but even his dormant instincts stirred from such blatant flirt with death.

"I think you are one my favorite heroes," Akira continued, apparently detached from the mindsets the heroes presented. "You are very headstrong and caring of your colleagues, thank you," he bowed at the waist, respectful. "Thank you for being a hero for heroes, they can be quite ungrateful." He repeated, straightening and smiling.

She stared silent at him for a few seconds, before crossing her arms and turning her head away in disgust.

"'Hero for heroes'? Are you joking? This bunch doesn't deserve help, much less mine. Go away, I don't want to see your face anymore, spiked-guy."

"Of course, nee-san," he easily agreed, smirking knowingly at her.

She huffed one last time before flying down the hall without a glance back, leaving the teen surprisingly intact.

Badd and Zombieman stood in stunned silence, everything ending too fast.

"So, who is up for udon?" Akira proposed, standing in front of them nonchalant, a playful light shining in his eyes.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Badd asked. "What about those statistics and graphics and shit on public view and LGBT community and 'group age of contribution' and 'group age of social media influence' and fujoshis?" He asked in a breath, brow furrowed, as if in pain, rubbing a hand against his forehead to dissipate the flying thoughts.

"Well, that was plan A. But Tatsumaki-san presented the perfect plan B. Truth be told, it went much smoother this way." He shrugged, pleased. "Come on, treat your boy some food," he slyly approached, sloting his side against Badd's, grabbing his swinging arm. "Let's go, Zombie-nii-san, Badd is feeding us to show his gratitude." He kissed Badd's cheek with a loud smack, making the scowl marking the hero's brow deepen, but he didn't shake the other off.

"It would be most welcome," Zombieman diplomatically added, smiling at them. He couldn't help but feel that the worst was over, relieve making his chest lighter.

However, it was worrying that the HA attempted to use Tatsumaki to do their bidding. They would soon realize the heroes, as ununited they were, also wouldn't back stab each other.

If they wanted someone to do that, Sweet Mask would have been a better candidate. However, the man was too busy on his tour, and wouldn't interfere unless something truly shameful was happening.

The three of them left on higher spirits than when they arrived, walking in companionship silence.

Akira glanced at him, winking and briefly bringing a finger to his lips, asking for silence. Zombieman nodded, mimicking a ziper across his mouth.

It wouldn't do for Badd to know they had had an alternative plan A, much more dramatic than what they had told the teen. The Hero Association had escaped ruin today, that was for sure.

o.O.o

Zombieman opened the door to his apartment, and immediately drew his shotgun.

"No need to get trigger happy!" Garou waved, slouched on the couch, the leftover rice that had been in the fridge in his hand, a spoon in the other.

Zombieman lowered his gun and entered the apartment, gently closing the door. Garou's visit was a surprise, but it didn't seem like it would be a displeasing one.

"You should be more careful when entering a hero's home," he airily commented, starting to take firearms and cartridges from his coat, laying then on the heavy table by the entrance, already marked and stained with oil and gunpowder and scratched from metal.

"You guys should be better guarded!" Garou threw back, smirking. "You left your window unlocked."

Zombieman smiled at that, knowing that pointing out that they were on the 23th floor would be for naught.

"You are right," he easily agreed instead, laying his machete down and hanging his now weapon-free coat by the door.

Silence was his answer. As he turned to enter the kitchen he briefly caught Garou staring at him, the teen quickly averting his gaze, finding much interest in the sofa's fabric. The hero lost sight of him as he moved through the threshold.

Zombieman calmly walked to the sink, filling two glasses before returning to the living room. Garou was as he had left him, feigning disinterest, laid in a slouch so carefree and perfectly poised it could only have been the work of much fidgeting.

"Here," he offered one of the waters. The teen eyed him carefully, before slowly taking the glass, his long fingers grabbing its base.

Zombieman sat on the coffee table, in diagonal from the other. There wasn't much in his living room: just the sofa, the low table, an old television and his weathered table, used as his maintenance station. There were his bedroom, a bathroom and his kitchen, all small, but separated. He wasn't too worried about Garou snooping around, there wasn't much damaged to be done, and his most sensitive information was on the laptop he used to gather evidence, but he couldn't imagine the teen expressing any interest in that.

They sipped from their glass at the same time, keeping their eyes fixed on each other over the brim. Garou scowled, seeming determined not to lose the competition he had fantomed. Zombieman smiled internally, deeply amused. The water slowly trickled down his throat uninterrupted.

The teen realised mid cup he had been lulled into security by Zombieman's unhurried drinking, not realizing he would need to breathe much sooner than expected. To compensate, he chugged down the rest of the water gracelessly. Garou finished first, taking deep breaths as soon as possible, planting his hands on his knees and panting. Zombieman kept at the same pace, part because he actually enjoyed the act, but mostly to tease Garou a bit. It was a warm, bubbling and sizzling feeling that prompted him to do it, just for the _fun _of the experience. Similar to when he jokes to put people at easy, but this time there was no finality, no oppressing matter weighing upon them.

Garou glared wide eyed at Zombieman, grudgingly admired.

"...It took you over 7 minutes to finish that." Garou brankly said, both accusing and surprised.

"I enjoy the act of drinking water," he replied, putting the glass down. "Well, I also don't need to breathe, so there is that."

"You _really_ are dead," Garou said, a smirk pending on his lips.

That gave Zombieman an unpleasant start. It was odd, such awakening of feelings from those words. They had never bothered him before.

Something must have showed on his expression, because Garou's mirth quickly disappeared as he glanced aside and fidgeted with the glass.

"I mean-" He started, trying for nonchalance, "in body, you know? You don't really produce body heat, and I'm pretty sure you don't have a heartbeat." He shrugged, deceivingly uninterested. "So, yeah. Clinically dead, or some shit like that," he mumbled.

"In those aspects, you are right." Zombieman lightly agreed. He hummed, crossing his arms and scratching his chin, thoughtful. "That could easily have been my hero name: 'Clinically Dead'," he enunciated slowly, testing the words.

"That's a mouthful." Garou chuckled, his shoulders lowering. "But there are worse, far worse. Those guys from the Hero Aggregation have bird shit for brains." He scoffed, his good humor decreasing. "Wasting time on things like that." He became somber, hands closing in tight fists.

Zombieman didn't correct the name, nor considered defending the association. Recently, there had been very little worth speaking up for.

"Badd told me about the shit they just pulled up." Garou said, looking down, a frown not unlike Badd's deeping his brow. "It's so stupid, and they didn't even get the couple right!" He barked a laugh, though it lacked any true mirth. "Seriously, kinda disappointing, the people hiring the strongest in the world being so useless."

It was the truth, the hero agreed. That made him feel unpleasant stirs in his chest, the short lived relieve as soon as they had exited the meeting room dissipating in only hours, leaving Zombieman to gradually fret, a lurking emotion slowly catching up to him.

A sense of foreboding, a bad omen, it came upon him in waves, each bigger than the last. He awaited the one that would surely drag him under for good.

"It was bad enough just one random asshole bothering him," Garou continued. "The camera dude."

Zombieman nodded, all too aware of the danger that person had poised. From what he had seen so far, the man had stopped following heroes and became a photographer for hire.

"Humans, heroes and monsters are more similar than any one of them want to believe," Zombieman said. "Everyone is just trying to live their lives and defend what they love. The only true difference is that, usually, monsters only love themselves." He gazed knowingly at the teen. "Heroes try to feel a bit of love for people they don't know, and humans love their families because that's all that really matters in this world."

"Kinda strange, separating humans and heroes like different things," Garou weakly laughed, smiling hesitantly.

"From what I've seen, a human can as easily be a hero or a monster, but a hero does not need to be human." Zombieman easily replied, eyes fixed on Garou.

The teen in front of him was proof enough. Garou was a human-monster, definitely. His aura, posture, mind and body all indicated someone right in the middle of a transformation, the well known revolution that twisted a normal person into a monster to match the exterior with the lurking interior. But, as Zombieman had said, heroes and humans still found love for other people, and if Badd's devotion was anything to go by, Garou felt the same.

"You matching the description quite well," Garou commented suddenly, eyeing the hero sideways. Zombieman stopped for a moment to ponder on that.

With a sense of _calmness_ and _clarity, _he realised it true. Something else he perceived was that calm was not what he had felt constantly, contrary to his own believe. There was a stark contrast between apathy and serenity.

"Perhaps," Zombieman chose to leave it at that.

Garou stood suddenly, stretching vigorously, popping bones and ligaments, muscles rolling under the skin comfortably. He laid the glass next to the other before moving to the open window.

"Guess I will be going now," he dismissed in a relaxed drawl, feigning aloofness. He didn't turn back as he lowered his head slightly, hands gripping the rail tightly, hesitating. "Badd is too soft for his own good. There are things that idiot refuses to do because he's way too mellow." Garou stopped, the slight perfil showing his throat bobbing in a swallow.

Zombieman also stood approaching until the was a couple of paces behind Garou.

"He is my friend," Zombieman simply stated, there was no other explanation needed.

Garoun nodded minimally, almost to himself, gathering strength. He quickly turned and locked eyes with the hero.

"Thank you," he seriously said. "It pisses me off that most of his problems are me, and that there is literal nothing that I could do to help, safe leaving, but I'm way too selfish for that," he tried smirking, producing and awkward wince. "So thank you for doing the things he is too good to do, and for being where I can't." He went as far a quickly bowing, before turning and planting a feet on the window, ready to leap.

"You are most welcome. Though I have to say that I didn't do it just for him," that stopped Garou briefly, who turned his head a bit. "I did it for his partner, too. If Badd found someone to live by his side, then it's a person worth fighting for," he smiled kindly, both surprised and pleased by Garou's honesty.

The teen stared at him wide eyed for a few seconds, before chuckling and looking ahead. "That's because both of you are bakas," and he jumped forward.

Zombieman didn't waste time looking down the building, he was mostly sure the other would be gone already.

Instead, he lit a cigarette and stood by the open window, gazing at the rising sun in the east, in peace, at the moment.

o.O.o

Saitama's new apartment didn't reflect his new salary as an A class hero, much less with an S class as room mate. It was in city M, in a small complex much similar to all of his last residences. It was also much closer to Akira's residence than city Z had been.

Zombieman acquired this information in casual conversation with the teen, who had given the exact address without further prompting.

"You can show up whenever," Akira had reassured. "To his or mine place, really." He had smirked playfully. "He just might grumble more about it, but he enjoys the company. You guys might do each other some good."

So far, Zombieman had, quite frankly, stalked the other from far.

Genos and Saitama had a boringly normal routine of shopping trips and house work. They switched every other day on who brought the trash down, and regularly aired the apartment. Sometimes they left in a hurry, maybe after a monster, but most likely for a time restricted discount sale.

So far, Zombieman could find nothing to clue him into Saitama's strength. Truth be told, he didn't think he would be the one to discover the source of such power. Hopefully, no one ever would.

"Saitama is my rival. You've got no business messing with him!" Someone suddenly shouted, a presence approaching at alarming speed, he turned to see who was it-

Well, there went half his head.

He barely felt the blade, really. Whoever was wielding it was very fast and masterful. He only felt half his face sliding down, the sensation of part of his body falling away a common enough occurrence he wasn't fazed anymore, much less disturbed. His attacker had frozen, probably not expecting his target to stay standing, much less gaze unimpressed at him with the remaining eye.

It was a young male, thin, in dark clothes, with purple tattoos under his eyes. Speed of Sound Sonic, if Zombieman remembered correctly. His fighting style would clash badly with Zombieman's own, the hero knowing he actually had low chances of winning without first tiring the other out, at which point the ninja could just retreat.

"Oi!" Another voice shouted down the street, a few meters away. It was Saitama, in civilian clothing, holding a grey faced Akira, scowling at them both. "Ah, man! What did you do that for? It's not like you can kill him," he directed at Sonic, more peeved than angry or scared or any other normal reaction to witnessing a blade cutting someone's head. "Now this one is freaking out," he grumbled, his arm around his brother's shoulders the only thing keeping him up.

Akira's eyes were wide, face expressionless and bloodless, his lips white. He was shaking slightly, fixated on the piece of flesh that had hit the ground, distant. Zombieman felt detached guilt. However, the emotion that bothered him then was most similar to dread, the fear that someone who had gazed at him warmly, talked to him honestly, embraced him wholeheartedly, would turn cold, maybe afraid.

Saitama lowered Akira, making his sit on the ground. He moved in front of his brother, cutting his view from the blood and gore, gently pushing his head down, talking to him quietly.

"It's Zombieman, Akira," said hero heard, despite the soft tone Saitama uttered. It was just like the man's usual calm voice, yet strangely different, in such setting. "He will be fine any minute now," he soothed, keeping a firm hand on the back of Akira's head.

Sonic had made himself scarce, probably fearing Saitama's warth. Zombieman knew his skin was knitting together, bones and flesh growing. It took a few minutes, but it felt a lot longer as he holt the breath he didn't need, eyes drawn on the brothers.

As soon as he could see with both eyes and didn't sense air hitting where it shouldn't, he approached with measured steps to kneel next to the bald hero.

"Here, look," Saitama smiled, encouraging. "He is all better now. With a few more blood stains, but enough bleach will take care of that," he patted Akira's head, brushed his spiked hair back.

"I am terribly sorry about that," Zombieman said. "He was very fast, and I did show without preview notice," he attempted at humor.

The teen took in a shuddering breath, blinking slowly and turning his eyes to Zombieman's face, as if worrying he would see half of it still missing. He stared a long while at him, eyes drinking into every detail, boring into his own red eyes. He nodded slightly to himself, reassured that indeed the hero was back to one piece.

"That spooked me," he weakly smiled, voice far from its usual energy. "Sorry, s-sorry," Akira even stuttered, pushing a hand into his hair and rubbing his face. "Don't apologize, Zombie-nii-san, it wasn't your fault." He took another deep breath, calming himself. He laughed feebly, rubbing a hand over his chest. "Wow! That got me like nothing else in a while! Seeing a friend's face just slide away is very disturbing, I'm glad you are okay, I'm fine now, sorry about the hassle." Akira babbled, standing on wobbly legs.

Zombieman and Saitama stood after him, ready to catch him if his knees faltered again. Akira stood straight, hands clenching and throat bobbing, dry swallowing. Zombieman wasn't sure if it was repressed nausea or nerves, he mused as dread kept pilling in his stomach.

The three stood a few more instants in silence, the teen gazing blankly down and the heroes watching him cautiously.

"You okay now, man?" Saitama awkwardly asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"A bit, yeah," Akira barked a painful laugh. "Might want a hug later." He took another deep breath, closed his eyes a few seconds, and produced a much stronger smile. "I will go ahead and start dinner, please get the rest of the things we need. Zombie-nii-san, you came all the way here, please stay," without waiting for any answer, he quickly walked to the apartment complex, not sparing a glance at the piece of flesh he passed through.

Saitama and Zombieman observed him until he disappeared into the apartment. The bald hero sighted.

"Well, I guess we are shopping together, now."

…

Zombieman payed and carried half the groceries, he had insisted. Though not outright stingy, Saitama always was up for saving money, so he hadn't complained about that.

They had shopped in relative silence, just exchanging the basic conversation over products and politeness. Some people had stared at Zombieman, particularly at his blood stained trench coat and red eyes, but no one had approached or ogled for too long.

They were walking back to the apartment with a week worth of groceries, so the apartment was probably quite bare, Akira not having much to start working on. The teen probably had wanted sometime alone to recompose himself.

"He isn't squeamish, you know." Saitama suddenly said, his bored expression and lax posture the same as always. "Akira cleans up pieces of monsters, some of them are still quite human-like." He further explained. "So he must have been really worried to freeze like that." Saitama finished, a minimal lilting at the end of his sentence indicating his curiosity.

Zombieman felt a mix of warmth and pain. Being important enough to someone to be worthy of their grieve, to be missed, to be mourned over, was a strange feeling, not unwelcome, quite good actually. But the following sadness in causing such suffering left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

"Akira and Badd are very important to me," he ended saying, the truth sounding like the best answer.

"Good," Saitama replied. "Because he's been talking about you non stop, it's getting annoying. Last time he was like that was when he met Badd, and that was over a decade ago." He huffed, but a pleased light shone on his eyes. "Having people to care about is good, makes you remember why some things are worth the trouble," he instrospectly added.

Akira's words were suddenly brought to mind, about them being good to each other.

"Do you find it difficult to see meaning in things?" Zombieman asked, intrigued, sudden realization making his mind turn. _Of_ _course_, he berated himself, someone who had already reached the peak, has trespassed every obstacle, would only find boredom. It would come as no surprise that a loss of purpose would install itself on a human's mind, debilitating, oppressing to the point the only escape would be to-

"Not really, no." Was the unexpected answer. "I know everything has its own importance, everyone matters." Saitama said, as casual as citing his shopping list. "The meaning of getting up in the morning has not changed since I was in school; the meaning of giving someone your time is still the same be they a villain or a hero; the meaning of always having exact change is the same when your wallet is empty or full." He went on the crooked tangency.

Saitama couldn't be hurt, couldn't be defeated. Had he wanted, the world would lie defenseless before him. But, what would the point be, if it was all the same? If he felt dead inside?

Zombieman couldn't stay dead, his heart didn't beat and his lungs didn't need air. He ate, but he realized early on that starvation wasn't a danger to him. He didn't remember being alive, did that really made him a monster? Dead as much in body as in soul?

They both had meaning, they both grasped reasons to be and to do with teeth and claws and didn't let go. They fought against the empty abyss that lurked at them constantly, clinging to life, clinging to the small things.

"If meaning is not what you lack, then what trouble were you referring to?" He asked, curious, wanting to understand the only other person he had ever met that felt so like himself.

Saitama frowned, lisp twisted in displeasure, the expression banning his usual dumb visage. He searched among his groceries, pulling a colorful bag.

"Like spending way too much on overpriced candy!" He exclaimed, glaring at the sweet. "If I didn't care about that big mouthed idiot, never would I spend this much on such crap!"

Zombieman couldn't help it, he laughed out loud, the surprise from such _mundane_ answer delivered so straightforwardly cracking the pilling tension. Never had he reacted so strongly, never had he felt such _exhilaration, _even _giddiness, _from meeting someone so equal and so different.

"Oi!" Saitam exclaimed, angrily. "This is serious! Not only expensive, this tastes horribly! I don't know how I failed so hard in raising him with better taste." He grumbled, good humor in his tone. "Well, you can't die. Do you have trouble in caring?" He suddenly threw the question back, features sharp, a knowing smile pending on his lips.

"No," Zombieman answered without hesitation. "I don't, not anymore."

…

Akira was overjoyed when Saitama presented him with the sour lemon candy, hugging his brother tightly for long seconds, they both soaking up the affection.

Akira apologized again to Zombieman, offering him one of the candies.

"I will take one gratefully," the hero said. "But only if it comes with something else," he warned, much surer of himself.

Akira gazed at him thoroughly, the knowing look mirroring his brother's. He suddenly beamed, tackling Zombieman in a bear hug that he returned, warm filling his chest and reaching his fingertips.

…

Saitama was right. About meaning, caring and people. But what he was most right about was the candy.

It was _terrible._

o.O.o

Saitama didn't consider himself a complicated person.

He washed his underwear, he cooked every other night, he paid in exact change, he liked mangas and his favorite fruit was banana. He tolerated the morning news, but the midday one was unbearable, he wasn't into dudes but he couldn't claim having specific taste in women. He was a hero for fun turned professional, self trained.

People didn't seem to get any of it.

Mostly they assumed him so lazy he had enslaved Genos into doing laundry _and _house work. Then people thought he was dating Genos. Lastly, they obsessed over him about his strength.

He didn't know, okay? It just happened. There was no sudden click in his heart, no overnight transformation that suddenly gave him all his power. He trained hard for three years! His hair fell as every exercise got easier, as each opponent was struck down harder.

Genos had come bugging him about it. Saitama was just glad the kid had caught up to the fact he was as clueless as him, and that he wasn't kidding anyone into thinking he would be a great teacher or something.

But more people kept coming.

Sonic and his rivalry fixation which, okay, it was flattering in its own way, but mostly annoying.

Bang and his desire for new pupils.

Fubuki and her want for followers.

King and his craving for inner strength.

Suiryu and his dream to live to the fullest.

Garou and his twisted logic of heroship.

That flat chested menace, Tornado, and her want for credit, for control.

And now, Zombieman, the undead.

The thing was, Saitama didn't know what the other hero wanted. Everyone else was pretty straight forward, had their fears and motives either stamped on their faces or were literally shouting out their origin stories.

Not the dead guy. He was quiet, he listened attentively, like Genos, but he was much more controlled, like the old man Bang. He was already pretty strong like Sonic and Suiryu, but he didn't seem to have an objective printed out. It was almost like he was searching for something inside himself, much like King, but still not quite. Maybe with a touch of Fubuki's loneliness, but less desperate, more intense, like her older sister.

Akira talked a lot, but he listened just as much, maybe more.

"He is lonely," was the first thing Saitama heard about Zombieman.

"He is sad," the second.

"He needs a hug," the third.

"He doesn't even realize any of it," not the last.

After meeting the guy, really meeting, not just been accused of killing him on that onsen, he saw that everything that Akira said was true.

But _not quite._

He didn't let it bother him. Life had its mysteries, losing sleep over it was pointless, so he didn't stress himself too much. Oh, but Akira sure did.

When bothered, his overactive brother turned into a chatterbox, a broken one. He spewed every thought and concern at alarming speeds, paced restless and actually lost sleep about whatever was on his mind.

That's part of the reason Saitama never turned the other hero away, in none of the gatherings he had appeared. Saitama never turned people away, he knew how painful it could be to have a back turned on him.

But it meant he would study the other. Try to figure him out.

The first thing he concluded, on his own, was that the guy was stalking him. He hoped it was after his strength, and not something creep like his underwear. It was obvious, if only in a process of elimination, the person he was trying to figure out was Saitama himself.

Ok, well, great. Another one.

Saitama has started asking himself what would people do if they had his power.

Genos would avenge his family.

Sonic defeat his rival, at least come to a draw.

Bang… Well, that one was a mystery.

Fubuki would surpass her sister.

King would turn a lie into reality.

Suiryu would screw things up, probably.

Garou would have turned into a dictator of fear.

He didn't want to think about Tatsumaki.

Badd would continued the same bullheaded shitty teen as always, maybe with more spare time to fuss over his sister.

Akira would do nothing with it, his favorite weapon was his mouth.

What about Zombieman? What could he desire? To answer that Saitama observed the other as much as he was observed in return. He listened to Akira's impute and bribed Zenko's opinion out of her with fruit salads.

The picture he formed wasn't pleasant to see, if only because of the things he could recognize there.

Like looking into an old mirror and seeing a slightly twisted image of himself.

It suddenly explained Akira's fixation on the guy.

"Could have told me before," he had grumbled as they unpacked in the new apartment. "About that Zombie guy."

"Where would be the fun in that?" His brother had answered with a laugh, a sad one. "Single, jobless, parentless men under the age of thirty are among the social groups of risk."

"We are not jobless," Saitama mumbled. "And I'm sure he is older."

"His body could be well up to a hundred years old as far as we know," Akira explained, as they filled the bookcase with manga. "But he's been awake less than twenty three years," he explained.

Saitama didn't ask how his brother had come across such specific number, but he was sure it was accurate.

They worked in silence a few minutes more, efficiently putting together his new home. He wouldn't admit, but this place was being equipped to accommodate the freelancers that would show up. The table was bigger than two men would ever need, and the fridge was normal sized, not a mini. The futons had a wardrobe to be put away during the day, allowing more sitting space.

"I am glad," Saitama said. "That he isn't an old creepy geezer after some tennagers," he deadpanned.

"He really isn't," Akira assured. "Unlike yourself, putting a nineteen years old in a pink apron and-"

"Shut it, dude!"

So, yeah. Zombieman wanted strength, but what he truly desired was as simple as feeling alive. And, at the end of the day, that was all everyone was seeking.

Saitama could vaguely imagine what was like always losing, but never _losing. _When half of the guys face simply fell away under Sonic's blade, Saitama would be lying if he said it had done nothing to him. To him, it had happened at normal speed, but Zombieman always carried himself with calm and sureness, so it hadn't really occurred to Saitama to intervene. Just as his face literally slid down, revealing brain, bones, sinews and muscle, Saitama cringed, because that couldn't be pleasant. The wet, crunchy sound the flesh made as it hit the ground was the worst of it.

So Akira freaked a bit, but he put himself together much quicker than the last time something like that had happened. It hadn't been easy, their parents' murder.

It had been traumatic, the then nine years old had barely escaped alive from the breaking and entering that turned into a double murder. The guy had never been caught.

The investigation was still open. Every now and then Akira was called for a line stand, to try and identify the murder. Last time had been right in the middle of the Monster Association disaster.

It was always stressing. His brother was almost the opposite of him, caring too much, feeling too much, loud and sometimes brash and a smartass. But with a heart of gold. Saitama was proud to say he had helped raised a person like that.

Saitama was glad his brother wanted to help other people, especially the ones that hadn't been able to find their way, like Zombieman had been. Ah, and that Garou guy, Badd's boyfriend.

It was cute how those little shits thought they could hide something like that from him. Saitama had always been the one to know what kind of animals the boys had sneaked into the house, where they had hidden bees, beetles, ants, centipedes, even a squirrel once. They still had much to learn before they could conceal more than one hundred and eighty centimeters of muscle and crazy intent.

Akira probably knew that he knew, just like he was aware they would never fool Saitama into thinking Badd and Akira would ever be anything else than the best of friends.

But teennager would be tennagers and, for that, Saitama couldn't blame them.

Owari.


End file.
